


Typical Mornings

by marishka



Series: The End in So Many Words [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:12:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marishka/pseuds/marishka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Broken homes leave deep holes that are eager for filling—Dean would know—and he'd filled the poor sucker up with all the filth this world had to offer.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Typical Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Decided I wanted to explore a human/non-hunter 2014 SPN AU full of drugs and murder and unhealthy relationships, but since long multi-chapter fics are hard, I may just do a series of ficlets within that universe for now.

It's in the bleak and dim hours of way-too-early that Dean remembers. He's pretty sure it's just the universe's way of kicking him in the shins again, because his karma's just bad enough for the whole world to be out to get him.

There's cold fingers curled around his arm and they twitch occasionally, probably in the midst of some deranged dream, or maybe for no reason at all. The man half buried under the sheets who's hand keeps Dean chained to the bed is a shadow of what he remembers. 

Cas had come to him pure as an angel, proper and uptight and so damn righteous it made his skin itch. But broken homes leave deep holes that are eager for filling—Dean would know—and he'd filled the poor sucker up with all the filth this world had to offer. Until you could barely see his once blinding shine. 

They'd started out small, with beers and shots over winding conversations. Dean had gotten some odd pleasure from exploring just how foreign his little blue-eyed angel was, he was practically inhuman, but in such a different way from Dean's own lost humanity. 

Back then, Cas— _Castiel_ , as he'd insisted for at least a month before finally accepting the nickname—had been the best thing in Dean's life. And he'd wasted no time is tarnishing that good with all the garbage that ruled over his life. He'd told himself it was harmless _fun_ back then, but he knew what he was doing, knew what it would do, and gained some sick pleasure from watching Cas fall apart in his hands. 

He fell until all that was left was a permanently hazed mind and empty eyes. No, not _empty_ , Dean just didn't like admitting what he saw in those eyes. Once so clear and knowing and full of curiosity, they now stared back at him with the weight of all he'd done to his angel. It was never hate he saw in Cas' eyes, but resignation and such hopelessness that it made his stomach twist and his lungs stop short. 

He'd found something beautiful and pure and amazing, and he'd stripped all the good out of it, scrubbed away at the light until it was as dirty and broken as him. Because that's what he always did, wasn't it, that was his idea of love. 

And now he was left with the crumbled pieces of a man who'd once been so much better than him, reduced to a common junkie and clinging to Dean in his sleep like he was his last chance at redemption. But they both knew that was as good as asking the devil for salvation. 

But still Dean remembers how they were, what Cas was before he fell down the same putrid ditch Dean had made his home more years ago than he could be bothered to count. All for _love_ , or at least what the poor bastard had thought was love. 

It's well past sunrise by the time Dean manages to fall back to sleep, blissfully devoid of dreams and warmed by the too-still body of his little angel beside him.


End file.
